What could Melancthon do? that was the great question. Many persons, even in Germany, had hoped that France would put herself at the head of the great revival of the Church. Had not her kings, and especially Louis XII., often resisted Rome? Had not the university of Paris been the rival of the Vatican? Was it not a Frenchman who, cross in hand, had roused the West to march to the conquest of Jerusalem? Many believed that if France were transformed, all Christendom would be transformed with her. To a certain point, Melancthon had shared these ideas, but he was less eager than Bucer. The outspoken language of the placards had shocked him; but the burning piles erected in Paris had afterwards revolted him; he feared that the king’s plans were a mere trick, and his reform a phantom. Nevertheless, after reflecting upon the matter, he concluded that the conquest of such a mighty nation was a thing of supreme importance. His adhesion to the regenerating movement then accomplishing might decide its success, just as his hostility might destroy it. He must do something more than open his arms to France, he must go to meet her. Melancthon understood the position and set to work. First, he wrote to the Bishop of Paris, in order to gain him over to the proposed union, by representing to him that the episcopal order ought to be maintained. The German doctor did not doubt that even under that form, the increasing consciousness of truth and justice, the living force of the Gospel, which was seen opening and increasing everywhere, would gain over to the Reformation the fellow-countrymen of St. Bernard and St. Louis. ‘France is, so to speak, the head of the Christian world,’ he wrote to the Bishop of Paris.[694] ‘The example of the most eminent people may exercise a great influence over others. If France is resolved to defend energetically the existing vices of the Church, good men of all countries will see their fondest desires vanish. But I have better hopes; the French nation possesses, I know, a remarkable zeal for piety.[695] All men turn their eyes to us; all conjure us, not only by their words, but by their tears, to prevent sound learning from being stifled, and Christ’s glory from being buried.’ On the same day, 9th of May, 1535, Melancthon wrote to Sturm: ‘I will not suffer myself to be prevented either by domestic ties or the fear of danger. There is no human grandeur which I can prefer to the glory of Christ. Only one thought checks me: I doubt of my ability to do any good; I fear it will be impossible to obtain from the king what I consider necessary to the glory of the Lord and the peace of France.[696] If you can dispel these apprehensions, I shall hasten to France, and no prison shall affright me. We must seek only for what is fitting for the Church and France. You know that kingdom. Speak. If you think I should do well to undertake the journey, I will start.’